Michael had to squint his eyes as he stepped out into the light with Simon in his arms. It shocked him how dark it was inside the warehouse, despite it being mid-morning outside. It was jarring, but just a little bit funny how nothing changed at all.

He carried Simon outside, before setting him down on the ground, and pulling the glass shard out of his pocket. He didn't want to do this, but he didn't have a choice did he? Simon got here because of him, he owed him, he had to help him any way he could, and this was the only way.

Simon thought about his parents at home. He wanted to say something to them. He wanted to say goodbye to them. But he had already done that the day he left to go on the trip. He hoped that they would be able to move on without him.

"M-Mum....D-D-Dad.... I.... I'm sorry that-that I won't b....be coming h-home...." Simon said in a tired tone and his vision was getting more dark. He could barely feel any more pain. "Michael.... If you see Seb.... S-Sebastien.... Tell him that I-I'm sorry for not b-being there for him...."

Michael grabbed Simon's hand as he spoke. He brought the shard up close as he listened to him talk to his parents, as he told them goodbye, as he apologized. As he mentioned Sebastien...

Sebastien...

"Jesus..."

He fucked up... The whole situation with Aaron... He fucked up. Simon asked about Michael, what he had to say... He fucked up.

"I-I fucked up... That's... That's all."

He tightened his grip on the shard as it began to cut through his glove, before he turned his head and looked at Simon. Simon didn't have too long left... Simon was already dead, and all he wanted to do was to pass on. All Michael had to do was help him along. He brought the shard closer to Simon's wrist.

"Look at me, okay, don't look away from my eyes." Michael sighed.

"I told Blaine this, and I'll tell you this... These cameras, they're all watching us... Somebody knows who we are, and somebody knows what we done. Soon everyone's gonna know. Your mom, your dad, everyone back home, they'll know what you did. They'll know you were a damn hero."

Michael dropped the shard, now wet with fresh blood. His grip on Simon's hand didn't release.

"It's done, I finished it for you, you ain't gotta worry about that part anymore. All's left now is to wait n' shit... Anything else you want to talk about until then?"

Simon needed to say something to Michael. He couldn't leave him without trying to say something to encourage Michael to continue onwards. What could he even say? He had to think back to being on the swim team with his classmates. Michael needed support from him, right?

"Don't.... g-give up, Michael.... B-Be strong...."

Simon's hand weakly squeezed Michael's to give him some comfort. He closed his tired eyes and leaned his head against the ground. It was almost time for him to go.

"J-Just talk to me.... or s-something, Michael...." A small smile formed on his face and he could feel his heartbeat getting slower and more weaker.

Michael had to actually stop and listen to what Simon was saying. Simon wanted him to hang on, as hard as it was. Michael knew Simon was right, he couldn't give up, not now, not this early, but how could he keep up? That was the main problem, where would he go from now?

"You're right..."

He needed help, he knew that. He liked to think he could handle things on his own, that he could take care of himself, but could he really? Every time some shit happens he needed someone to bail him out.

"You're right; I don't know what I'm gonna do yet, but I know what I'm not gonna do. I ain't gonna quit, still got one nut in me to skull fuck these bastards, and I'll be damned if I let another Blaine come up and try to turn me into some sort of cock sock for their amusement."

He wasn't going to give up, he couldn't, but what could he do? What was he capable of? He killed Blaine, but it didn't really help much. It's not like his situation got any better, it just got less worse really.

"Problem is though, I don't know what I'm gonna do, what can I do? I don't even know where to start, it's only been a damn day and it feels like the world's gone to shit... I haven't even heard the announcements actually. I don't even know who's killing who..."

It was a fucked up feeling really, to just be so helpless to everything. Though as much as he hated it, there was a silver lining; he wasn't gonna go down without giving in his ten licks. That little bit of spite seemed just enough to live on, and maybe it was enough. Maybe just telling the world to go fuck itself was enough to keep him going. Then again, maybe not.

Simon could barely hear Michael's voice anymore. But he heard Michael asking asking what should he do. Why was he asking him? What could Simon even say to to him? How would he be able to cheer Michael up?

"F-Find friends and..... and....."

Simon's heart was getting weaker and it was getting harder for him to breathe. This was it for him. He had to get out his last words. He had to.

"P.....P-Protect..... t-t-them.... Mi-Michael...."

Simon squeezed Michael's hand once more. Then he stopped breathing after a few more breathes.

Michael watched as Simon breathed his last. He listened to exactly what he told him. He understood. It was the first time on this island that he felt he actually understood what he was supposed to do. It was the first time he knew exactly what to do from this point on.

He didn't really feel much for Blaine after he killed him, sure there was this satisfaction about getting revenge for the shit that happened to him, but it was gone as soon as it came once he realized what happened to Simon. Michael realized that it doesn't really matter if you avenge someone who died. They were still dead, they weren't coming back. But if he was just a bit quicker, maybe, just maybe Simon would've still been here, and Michael could've called it a victory.

He realized what it was. It don't mean shit if you just kill someone who killed your buddies or hurt you. It meant something if you stopped them. That was the difference between a hero and just a somebody. A hero saves people. A hero stops people from dying in the first place.

It wasn't about stopping some sick fuck from ever hurting anyone ever again, it was about stopping him before he did. He failed today, he failed yesterday, but he wasn't going to fail again. He wasn't going to let the island fuck him up that easily. He could still breath, and he could still fight.

He got it. He understood.

"Thank you Simon... You saved my stupid ass in more ways than one now... I'll pay you back somehow. I don't know how, but you best fuckin' bet I will."

He placed Simon's arms over his chest, and made sure to close his eyes. Once Simon was taken care of, he reached into his pack and pulled out the first aid kit. If he was going to do anything besides die, he needed to fix his shit up before it all fell out of him.

As he opened the box and pulled out the equipment, there was only one thought on his mind.

This was gonna hurt like a bitch...

And one last adjustment... The trickiest one. Michael reached in his pocket for the last tool he needed for his surgical procedure. He pulled it out. It was a small, long, black instrument, with silver lining. One of his most used tools, he was an expert with this instrument.

A comb.

He brought it up to his most well known feature, and began the repairing process. Y'know; if there's anything for Mike to be thankful of, he was pretty thankful that Blaine couldn't find a pair of clippers around. One great thing about having such great hair is that people would be less inclined to look at more negative features as they're enthralled by the cosmetologist genius of Mike's abilities with gels, combs, and sprays.

It was mostly muscle memory by now, he'd worked on his hair for so long he didn't have to look at himself as he fixed it back. Even when he looked towards the mirror, he expected his face to be fucked. His hair on the other hand, would not be. Once he saw his reflection, he knew he was right.

Barring the easy part, the last hour and a half was hell. Stitches, anti-septics, eating pain medicine like candy, gargling medical alcohol like it was mouthwash... He regretted that last decision deeply, though at least he was certain his mouth was clean. The hardest part of it all was the obvious one though. He didn't even want to bring up any of the shit he had to do for that.

All it took for his hands was a lot of cleaning, and some adhesive bandages wrapped around his fingertips. The scratches on his arms were practically nothing. Slapped on some gauze and cleaning shit, and they were good. The harder parts were his face and...well yeah.

Without all the blood on him, he at least looked passable, in that weird I'm looking at myself from the bad future where Skynet blew everything up and now I lead the human resistance passable. The only problem was blood stains that trickled down the collar of his shirt, and the insert-tampon-joke-here splotch on his jeans. Maybe he could find a replacement in the warehouse, though probably not. That little jean stain kind of threw the whole grizzled survivor look out the window.

Though all in all, it could've been worse. Way worse. Could've lost the use of a leg, or an arm, an eye, an ear. Everything hurt right now, but he wasn't impaired. He was definitely not going to be going too fast any time soon, and once his adrenaline wore off, moving faster than a jogging shuffle was fucking terrible, but he wasn't a damn cripple yet, so that was good.

He leaned back against the wall, happy that he was done with the worst of it. That was another thing that hit him, one that lifted his spirits just a bit.

It couldn't get any worse than this...

Michael opened up one of the bottles of water in his pack and took a sip, careful not to drink too much so it didn't just spill out of the sides. He smiled as he swallowed.

"Yup, couldn't get worse than this. You got one nut and your face is all fucky, but you know what... It can't get worse. Ain't nothing they could do to scare you now..." It was a good thing. After all the shit that's happened to him? Anything else next to dying would be a fucking cakewalk. He just survived the worse this island had to offer, he could take any fucking thing they threw at him. It was the worst way to describe it, but a blessing in disguise was still a blessing, as fucked up as it sounded. After everything that happened, he still had another chance; and sometimes, all you needed to fix shit was a second chance.

He beat Blaine. The bastard thought he could break him, but all he did was make him stronger. He fucked up yesterday, sure, but yesterday was done, and there was no point in dwelling on that shit. Maybe he could make it up to Sebastien, maybe not, but there wasn't no point in not trying. He knew he could find Ev and Scar again, and he knew what he had to do once he saw them.

He'd find them, he'd make things right... That was later though, right now he had to sit here and rest. He still had a long fucking time ahead of him.

After a while of rest, Michael figured it was time to head on. It wasn't gonna start hurting any less, so there wasn't any point of sitting there moaning like a little shit and wasting away. He had to move on and find his buddies, so do that he will.

He needed to gear up first, though. He wandered back into the warehouse to recover some shit he needed if he was to be useful. He bent down to where he was tied up at and retrieved his chain, wrapping it around his shoulder and under his arm, locking it into place with his jacket's epaulet.

Michael remembered when Blaine tried to scare him with the gun that had no bullets. It'd definitely help if he got a hold of it. He reached over and picked up the empty pistol. He knew there weren't any bullets, but some other assholes didn't, unless he came across the poor sods who lost it to Blaine in the first place. If they helped him out of the barrel though, they probably weren't out to murder everyone, so he probably wouldn't have to worry about them anyways. Regardless, he stuffed the little gun in his coat pocket, before zipping his jacket up, just as an extra precaution.

Finally, there was the last thing in the bathroom. That sword looked chipped to shit, but it still worked, and a sword's a damn sword! Beggars can't be choosers here. He picked the katana up and took one last glance at where Blaine was. Ick. Something was missing. He turned back into the warehouse to grab something he desperately needed for this.

Michael wandered back in the room with, of all things, a toilet plunger. He put his shirt up to his mouth to cover up the stench as he walked back into the stall where Blaine's limp body was lying headfirst in the toilet. He took the plunger and placed it over the mush that used to be pussyface's uhhhh... fuck it, he just placed the plunger over Blaine's face. A small laugh escaped Mike as he looked at the ridiculous sight. A little black humor never killed anybody after all, well except Blaine, but who gave a fuck about him? That last bit of spite he had in him felt pretty good though, as if it made his wounds hurt just a bit less when he threw the toilet plunger cherry on top of the dead ass psycho murderer sundae. Almost like he was pulling some salt from his own wounds and putting them in Blaine's, so to speak. It also helped to censor the scene for anyone else who walked in, now nobody had to wander in just wanting to use the restroom and see that when they picked one of the stalls next to him, or at the very least, it'd soften the blow a bit.

"See ya' later, shithead."

Michael was never gonna see Blaine again, hell he hoped to never come back to the warehouse if he had a choice in the matter. Still, it was a good parting line. Clarence Boddicker would be proud.

As he walked back outside, he took a look back at Simon... He hated that, he hated seeing him lying there dead. He remembered what he told him though, and he was going to stick with it. It felt like so much has happened, but he was only getting started really. He had some last words to tell Simon before he headed on too.

"Thank you buddy, I mean it. Later, man."

It was time to go. Michael slipped on his shades once more, and left the building.